


Come Through My Window

by inthebackoftheimpala (Wishme)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, based on a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3191747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/inthebackoftheimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based loosely on this post running around tumblr: i really want an “i accidentally broke into your house/apartment because my friend lives next door to you and i was in the area, drunk, and i thought i was climbing into the right window and falling asleep on the right couch (and i did wonder when my friend got two cats but i didn’t question it) so now i’m hungover and shirtless in your living room so um hi howya doin” au</p><p>In which Dean Winchester can't count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Plus One Plus Two Plus One

Ugh." Dean swayed and leaned against the still closed window. He’d managed to pry it up enough to slip his fingers under the thing, but it wouldn’t budge. "Fucking Benny and his, ungh," he grunted, trying one again to shove it open, “Fucking window.”

 

Pausing to take a heaving breath and steady the alcohol-induced swaying of his brain, He looked down at the fire escape he was perched on—one, two, three ladders up. Fucking Benny and his walk up and not answering his fucking phone. And fuck Dad and his bullshit. Dean rested his head against the window for a minute to steady himself, shoving the thoughts about his dad behind the beer and whiskey where he’d been putting them all night. One last heave and Dean found himself folded over the windowsill, head resting on a nicely potted plant. He reached out to pat the plant on its fronds before dragging himself all the way through, somehow remembering to shut the window before collapsing on the couch, asleep before he hit the pillow

 

—-

 

Dean woke to the smell of coffee and a wet spot on the pillow. On the table next to him was coffee in a mug declaiming “MONTANA!” with an illustrated vista, two aspirin, and a tall glass of water. “Andrea must be home,” he thought as he gingerly heaved himself to a sitting position, downing the aspirin and water in one go. He cradled the mug between his hands reverently taking a few sips before raising his eyes to see a complete stranger in the doorway of the kitchen. He stood about Dean’s height, annoyingly attractive and leaning against the door jamb, intense eyes and a shock of messy black hair. A ratty blue robe covered plaid PJ pants and a faded ramones shirt.

 

He was silent under Dean’s perusal until Dean cracked, “Who are you?”

 

"I could ask you the same question," the stranger said in a voice much deeper than it had any right to be that early in the morning.

 

"Where’s Benny?" Dean took taking a sip of the coffee, the bracing bite of it trying to jolt his brain into focus.

 

"I have no idea, but he’s certainly not in my apartment," the stranger said levelly.

 

For the first time Dean looked around him. Where Benny had a dark wood entertainment system across from the couch was a series of shelves of precariously balanced books surrounding a perfectly good, if old, flat screen tv. Instead of Andrea’s sleek modern coffee table was one made of worn wood and iron. Old travel posters covered the walls depicting locales like Morocco, Paris, and Hong Kong. Stands holding greenery— ferns and succulents mostly-  were tucked into the corner by the window he must have come through. Had he actually pet one? Lord.

 

"So, ah, this isn’t 3F?"

 

The man chuckled, pushing off the wall and padding barefoot across the room to take a seat in the plush chair next to the couch. “No. 3E.”

 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, feeling the flush rising up his face, “Shit.”

 

—-

A blush was attractive on the man, Castiel noted. It had been a shock earlier that morning when he’d stumbled out from his room, naked, to find a stranger sprawled over his couch, boots still on. He’d paused for only a second before pushing through to the bathroom. Slightly more awake and relieved of his body’s pressing concern, Cas had paused on the way back to consider the man on the couch. His gaze tracked across the room to the barely-open window which he crossed the room to shut and lock. Moving back to the end of the couch he’d yawned, scratching his belly. Dawn was starting to leak through the curtains, the light playing across the freckle-dusted face. He seemed harmless, even if he smelled a bit like cheap whiskey, but Cas couldn’t help but note the strong jaw and dusty-blonde hair, swiftly suppressing the urge to press his lips against the fluttering pulse. That would definitely put him into creeper territory, particularly without pants. Cas grinned at the thought. Stretching his arms above his head, Cas regarded the man for another long moment before going back to his room to stretch and find clothing . Future-him could deal with the attractive interloper.

 

—

 

As if realizing the silence stretched between them for longer than socially acceptable, the man extended his hand and says, “Castiel Novak.”

 

Dean grasped it in his own, “Dean Winchester. The asshole who can’t count fire escapes”

 

Castiel chuckled, “I’m surprised you made it as close as you did with how much you obviously had to drink.”

 

Ducking his head, Dean smiles sheepishly. “It wasn’t one of my better nights.”

 

“Do you often break into strange apartments?” Castiel asked.

 

“Uh, no. No. Benny and I go way back and he lets me crash at his place when I’ve been out on his side of town. I couldn’t find the keys, so uh,”  Dean gestured in a climbing motion. “Maybe not my most brilliant idea.”

 

“One fire escape over from brilliance,” Castiel quipped.

 

Dean grinned up at him and they laugh, the sound echoing into the corners of the homey room.

 

Castiel set his mug down on the table and clasped his hands together, leaning forward, “Would you like to join me for breakfast, Dean Winchester?”  His eyes sparkled with humor and Dean found himself leaning forward, mirroring the man’s pose, his own eyes lighting up in response.

 

“I could do that.”

  
  
——

 

Later that afternoon Dean finds the keys to Benny’s place in his jacket pocket. The jacket he’d left in the backseat of his car. Before he starts the car, Dean scrolls through his contacts, pausing on the newest one. “Dinner Wednesay?” he types, pushing send before he can think twice. A few seconds later his phone buzzes in reply, “I could do that.”

 

He grins the entire way home.


	2. Pie Is Better Than Red Herrings

An alarm blares through the haze of Dean’s dream and he groans, burying his face into his pillow. The hand on his hip tightens, fingertips pressing into the soft spaces between bone as Cas presses himself even closer, mumbling into Dean’s neck, “Make it stop.”

 

A low chuckle rumbles through Dean’s chest and he stretches an arm out in the general direction of the noise, knocking the offending phone to the floor in the process. He rolls toward the edge of the bed, but Cas’s limbs tighten around him. “Babe, you gotta let me go if you want the alarm off.”  The endearment falls off Dean’s tongue unbidden, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind, retracting the leg pinning Dean’s, letting his arm lie lax.

 

The phone is easy enough to find and still freaking loud as Dean pokes at the screen to make it shut up. "Code?" he asks.

 

"1874," Cas says into the pillow, already sinking back into sleep. The code swipes in and blessed silence fills the room.

 

With a sigh, Dean rolls back rover to face Cas whose face is half-smushed into Dean’s pillow, his hair sticking up in every direction. Dean slides closer and Cas slings his arm over Dean’s hip, letting Dean slot their legs together. Watching the other man through half-lidded eyes, Dean smiles.

 

"Stop being creepy," Cas says, eyes still shut.

 

"You started it."

 

"Hm?"

 

"I woke up on your couch to you staring at me."

 

"You were on the wrong couch," Cas grumbles.

 

"Still."

 

"Ugh, fine." Cas dips his head to nose at Dean’s neck, brushing light kisses along the column of his throat.

 

The chuckle in Dean’s chest turns into a moan as Cas nips sharply.. His hand tightens on Cas’s bicep, “Cas,” he breathes. “We have to get up.”

 

"No" Cas says, sucking a bruise right over where he’d bit.

 

"Dude, yes." Dean shoves at Cas’s shoulder, but the asshole is fucking solid and instead Dean finds himself on his back with all of Cas’s runner-sleek body draped across him, noses just touching.

 

Fully awake blue eyes look into Dean’s green ones and Cas says, “I set the alarm early. We have an hour.”

 

"Son of a bitch." Dean grins and shoves his hands into Cas’s hair, dragging the man down for a filthy kiss.

—

Cas works from home, the second bedroom in his place an office filled with even more books. He’s a translator and speaks like fifteen languages, which Dean knows because he pressed words against his skin the night before. True to his word, though, he has Dean out of bed and in the shower with time to spare.

 

The collar of Deans shirt barely hides the marks Cas left from the base of his neck on down, having been stretched in their enthusiastic disrobing the night before. It’s a lucky thing Dean keeps a spare in his trunk—thank god it’s a lab day and no one cares what he wears. He’s sure there’s a button-up with a collar high enough he can use for classes tomorrow. Maybe a tie will help?

 

Cas is efficient, handing him a mug of coffee and a piece of toast before pushing him towards the door. They stand there in the doorway for a minute before Dean leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Cas’s lips. It’s different than the hurried ones they’d exchanged last night and this morning—hopeful. Cas smiles into it, deepening the kiss, resting both of his hands on Dean’s hips. They break apart and grin at each other. Dean knows he looks like a dork, but he can’t bring himself to care, especially not before coffee.

 

He coughs and says shyly, “I’ll call you later?”

 

Cas squeezes dean’s hip before stepping back, “You do that.”

 

Dean steps into the hallway and waves with the coffee mug, “Later, then.”

 

"Bye, Dean," Cas says and closes the door.

 

Dean stares at it for a second because what is his life even. A gruff cough jolts him out of his reverie to see Benny leaning against his own doorway. “Hey brother,” he drawls, lips kicking up at the edges as he catches sight of the marks marching up Dean’s neck.

 

“Hey, Benny,” Dean says warily.

 

“Didn’t know you knew the neighbor.”

 

Dean flushes. “We just met.”

 

“Really now. Have anything to do with those messages you left me Saturday night?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Counting error.” Dean looks decidedly nervous—this is a story he definitely has to hear.

 

Benny raises his eyebrow and then chuckles , “Math never was your strong point.”

 

He claps Dean on the shoulder and shuts the door behind him. He’ll get the story out of him at lunch later today—the boy would sell his soul for a free slice of Elizabeth’s pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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